


ICA Outstanding Performance Tumblr Ficlets with Gloves

by cicak



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Absolution, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Innuendo, Kink Negotiation, New Year's Eve, Scars, Showers, canon-typical innundo, sniper assassin, the Fuck Cabin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29928120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicak/pseuds/cicak
Summary: Tidied up versions of the ficlets I write while in the bath from prompts sent to my tumblr ask box, because tumblr is ephemeral but fic deserves to be eternal.10/03/21: dom!47/sub!Diana but-not-really added.12/03/21: added absolution shower (not that one), innuendo, and a steak side.
Relationships: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	1. sniper assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Here's a juicy mini fic:  
> Sniper assassin  
> 47 arrives early, sitting there like the cross-legged snack he is  
> Diana is giving him instructions on how to touch himself  
> It's a little game they always play on these assignments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh anon, this takes me back to the good old days of nsfw Fridays. And as I'm in the bath and in an overall better mood, lemme extrapolate....

47 is not the best sniper in the agency, even if he is probably up there with the specialists, but over the years it’s become obvious that his skills often are better applied to other areas. He does insist on keeping his hand in, and taking a sniping contract from time to time allows him to do that. They pay well for the amount of time and planning needed, even if they lack that certain style of a good accident set piece.

The main issue Diana has with them, for all her complaining, is the waiting.

"I don't know how you stand it, 47" she gripes in his ear. "The target is confirmed to be at least an hour a way. We could have done this there."

47 hums gently, unable and unwilling to engage in conversation. That is somewhat the point of being a silent sniper hiding in a nest. The silence.

"I have eyes on him through CCTV.” Diana continues. “There are canapes, and champagne, and oh look, private bathrooms. And is that a badly rigged chandelier? So very many opportunities..."

"Diana." He chides, but its fond.

"I'm just saying, 47. We have some time. You could probably get there in time; he just ordered another pint of beer. I hope he isn't driving home or he'll do us out of a job."

He doesn’t answer, and she sighs, dramatically.

"What _shall_ we do, 47? With all this time on our hands."

It's not a question, really. Her tone has changed into one that he remembers well, one they never talk about in debrief. Her voice is lower, sexier. She all but rumbles the next sentence in his ear.

"Do you remember that time in Barcelona?"

He shivers with the memory. How could he forget?

"I had eyes on you too, then, and it was so unfortunate you had to wipe those tapes."

He regrets it too. It would have made a great Christmas present for her, and he would have something to bring him back down whenever he’s feeling particularly automatonesque. No robot could do _that_.

He sighs, involuntarily, remembering, and she chuckles in his ear. Mission accomplished.

"Care to make a wager, 47?” Diana purrs in a way that spikes right down his spine. “I don’t know, maybe...I bet that I can get you off before the target gets in his car? He's got half his drink left."

"Not a fair bet" he huffs.

"Why, 47, is there something you're not telling me? Are you half cut already? You are so _aurally focused_..."

Its his turn to laugh now. "You mentioned Barcelona,” he points out, “That's not playing fair."

"Yes, fine, but can you blame me? You looked so lovely, perched up in the Gothic spires, one hand in your mouth and one on your prick, keeping yourself quiet. I still heard you, though. I could see it in your bio chip, the way your blood pressure surged for me every time I said your name."

His eyes roll back, and he tightens his grip on the gunstock, but its a battle he knows he’s losing. "Diana, _please_."

"Get on with it, 47, you haven't much time left. Need to get your heart rate back under control if you're going to make the shot from this distance."

He checks that the safety is on, and undoes his flies. It won't take much. Barcelona...she knows what she's doing. He sighs when he touches his dick, already so hard, already nearly there just from the memory and her voice.

"I love the little choked off gasp you always make,” Diana croons, and he bites his lip as she talks him through it, “From the first time you touch yourself, I can just tell how close you are. Lord, it's so sexy, to know you so well, and it’s such an honour to be here with you, watching you being my silent assassin in every way, even like this, so professional even as you're jerking off on the job. What would they say if they could see? They'd probably be as entranced by your big dick as I am, let's be honest. Yes, you're doing so well, it won't be long now, will it?"

It isn't. It never is when she's talking him through it. With a grunt and a shudder, 47 comes, and he hears Diana follow him in the background with a dreamy sigh. He cups his hand over the head so as to protect the equipment and ends up shooting down the inside of his wrist in three long, hot spurts.

The line is quiet, save their mutual heavy breathing, but then Diana swears. "Shit, 47, he's 500 meters out, red Audi, get ready."

He takes a deep, centering breath, and pulls the trigger. The bullet strikes the car at exactly the right angle, and the target goes down slumped over the steering wheel. 47 is up and walking away at the moment a few seconds later when the car ploughs into a tree and goes up in a blaze.

"Target down," Diana says, and if he didn't know better, he'd say she sounded a bit bashful. "Good job, 47. I'll arrange the funds transfer now. See you tonight."


	2. hurt/comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hndcrm asked:  
> ur so generous my godd🥴💕💕,, im a whore for some hurt/comfort - maybe 47 and diana after a mission gone, as mike from oxbox would say, "badly wrong"?  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!! In honour of all the times Mike managed to get into combat in improbable circumstances (like the infamous 8 seconds in Miami), I present...

Diana doesn't hear the alert noise from 47’s bio monitor that often. The fraction of a second it takes for her to realise what exactly the soft chime is is disorientating, but then the realisation slams into her like a sledgehammer.

“Agent down”, the computer says, as the algorithms kick in and bring up all her options, showing her the CCTV feed and the last ten seconds in a loop. She watches with one eye how 47 is fine, and then there's a blur, a single frame on the ancient video feed, and then he isn't. She stares at the loop for a second in shock. A busy street, no guards milling about, he wasn't even near the target yet, but then in a blink of an eye he’s gone from vital to quiescent.

She dispatched the support team while she’s still processing the whole situation, and then breaks radio silence. "The team is on its way to you, 47, just hold on."

He makes a choking sound as he tries to speak, and can’t. A collapsed lung, maybe? She isn’t a superstitious woman, but she crosses her fingers all the same as she sees the team break the speed limit on their way to him.

"Don't speak. Conserve your energy.” She needs to keep him alive, best she can. She’s a handler, she can handle this. “You need to get yourself into an alley, away from the public. They're on their way. They, _we're_ coming to get you."

"Diana, I didn't see, she had a knife", he says, and he sounds awful, like he’s going to panic, and it seems improbable but he’s as shocked as she is, but where she’s white knuckled and holding her breath he’s pale and wheezing. She checks the computer; the team is just a street away, running a red light in their fake ambulance, and over the comm she can hear the tinny Doppler shift of the siren as they rush down the tiny ancient streets and their frustrating, tourist-friendly one-way system and partial pedestrianisation, too mazelike to allow ease of access even in the case of emergencies.

He is silent on the other end of the line, and she hopes he’s just breathing carefully, but she keeps talking. "Nearly there. Just listen to my voice, keep quiet, breathe, I'm here, I'm coming for you, I’m nearly there to get you. Just one more minute, 47, hold on."

She's had nightmares about this, about hearing him die over a radio link from thousands of miles away. She has "wasted" millions of dollars of budgets making sure that all the safety nets are there for every single mission, however textbook, even as he sails through them untouched. She’s never been tempted to cut a corner because she knew, she knew that this could always happen, and it is all worth it for the moment she hears the paramedic take the earpiece and say "we have him, ma’am, he’s going to be alright. We're on our way".


	3. happy new year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bourbonpowered asked:  
> Diana and 47 infiltrate a New Year’s party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's have some FUN

**HAPPY 2022**

Standing high above the thrumming dance floor, Diana discreetly adjusts her earrings that carry the miniaturised receiver she's wearing for convenience's sake. "47, I'm in position..." She pauses and tilts her head as he comes into view across the dancefloor. "What ARE you wearing?"

47 leans on the railing, holding a drink and pretends to take a sip to hide his reply, spoken into the watch that is the matched pair of her earrings. "A man outside was selling them. They seemed as good a disguise as any."

She boggles. "Those glasses, the eye holes...they weren't cool in the 2000s, they don't even work now? Can you even _see_ out of your left eye?"

"I can see well enough." he says, gruffly. 

Diana takes out her phone and takes a picture of him. She can’t help it. He looks _ridiculous_. "Alright, 47. At least promise me you'll take them off if you're doing anything at a distance. I really don’t want to have to explain to the cleaners how you wanged the wrong person with a fire extinguisher because you weren’t sorry enough for party rocking." 

* * *

**DISTRACTIONS**

"I can see the target, 47. Hawaiian shirt, tight jeans, red hair. Do you see him?"

"No, I can't. I think there's something interfering with my vision.

"I told you those glasses..."

"Not the glasses," he says, a tiny smile on his lips. "Are you sure the target isn’t on the balcony? Red hair... Black dress. Legs that go all the way to the floor. I know she doesn’t fit the profile, but no one else stands out as much. I can’t take my eyes off her. I think she must be connected."

It's not possible to _hear_ someone roll their eyes, but 47 thinks he might have finally got the hang of it in the moment of Diana’s stunned, incredulous silence.

"Eyes on the prize, 47", Diana says, eventually. "Plenty of time for _that_ later."

"Promises, promises..." he says, as he makes his move, slipping behind the target and sliding the point of an emetic syringe into the meat of his shoulder before dancing away.

* * *

**OLD TIMES SAKE**

"Target down", he says. The body slumps in the toilet cubicle, his face a rictus of horror, comedically stained bright blue from the toilet cleaner. Carefully, 47 digs around in the mark’s jeans until he finds the inevitable, obligatory baggie of Colombian marching powder, and taps out a suicide line on the mirrored toilet back. "Accident established,” he reports. “The drugs at this party are unfortunately cut with something that made him hold his head under the water for five minutes."

"Shocking," Diana says drily. "The things people will do to get high. Come and find me on the dance floor, 47. We can slip out during the aftermath of the countdown."

He steps out of the cubicle and makes a point of washing his hands thoroughly and tips the man with the aftershaves ostentatiously. He takes a spray of something in a white lacquered bottle and after a moment's consideration, a lollipop for his trouble. "Happy new year," he says and the poor bathroom attendant beams, a twenty euro note in his pocket, not knowing just how bad his new year is about to get.

* * *

**5, 4, 3, 2...**

The dance floor is heaving for the countdown, and he's worried he won't find her in time. There are a lot of women in black, and the lighting strobes and flashes, washing out all other colour from the world, even her striking hair and creamy, luminous shoulders.

He eventually finds her standing against the wall, eyes on her phone, but obviously aware of every single person in the place in her own way. He sees how she’s caught a few men’s appreciative eye, men who have come here to have that special midnight kiss with someone pretty and desperate. Nearby a tall man with an outrageously hairy chest erupting bushily from his open shirt, complete with medallion right out of the 70s nestling between his nipples hovers nearby, waiting for an opening to slide in and, in his mind, whisk this MILF off her feet. 

As 47 approaches, Diana raises her head and her would-be disco duck of a paramour takes a step with intent, but 47 is quicker. He takes her hand, and pulls her close, strokes his hand proprietarily down the sweep of her spine, feeling the satin of her dress give way to an the open back, feels the way it shifts against her perfect figure with the promise of how it’ll fall on their bedroom floor, as he pulls her into the crowd.

Around them thousands of sky-high twenty something's scream as they count down from ten. A raucous girl in fairy wings knocks into Diana and it's easy for 47 to pull her close and get caught up in the moment. 3, 2, 1...

* * *

**HAPPY NEW YEAR**

It would be more suspicious not to kiss at that moment, if this was another time, another place, that would be his guilty rationale at being so presumptuous to kiss her. That would have been a good excuse, had they not already been kissing even as the club explodes with light and confetti, and the new year crystallises around them.


	4. scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Diana watching 47 undress while changing disguise and thinking about kissing his scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A classic if there ever was one!!!

It's unfair, really, how much of her job involves watching him get naked. It was unfair back in the old days of standard definition cameras, but in today's era of cheap HD quality, easily hackable "security systems'' bought off the shelf from ebay or aliexpress, it's really all too easy to see him in all his glory whenever she wants, with only competition the various Chinese surveillance botfarms beaming back evidence to nowhere.

Her favourite game is documenting his scars. Over the years her favourite has changed. There's a scar on his shoulder that was her favourite for a long time, especially back before the pixels got small enough to be truly invasive. She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, appraising him like fine art. It's a sunburst, and it healed shiny, perhaps a little keloidal, either way the placement means it always catches the light. 

Over the years though the starburst has come up against some tough competition. Maybe there’s the novelty of the ones that she sees less easily, the one low on his abdomen, a long slice from a machete in Djibouti, that acts as another transverse abdominal line on his lovely torso. There’s also the light peppering of scar tissue just above the knees from mistimed jumps, that she likes to idly speculate about the real reason he’s so scarred there. 

Ultimately though, her favourite is the one at the base of his throat, the one that peeks out in some disguises as a little temptation of a life lived hard. The thing she likes best about it is the way that it flexes as he pulls a shirt on, and how its often the last piece of forbidden skin she sees before he heads back out on his mission. She dreams about that scar, about how it appeared mysteriously one day, about who gave it to him, about what it would taste like, salty and musky from the sweat of the mission, whether it would be smooth or raised, and whether he would make a sound if she ever dared do it.


	5. dom 47? sub Diana?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> findmeh-slongson asked: Not something I see often but a sub Diana and Dom 47, just a little bit of fun.

In the aftermath of their, well, 47 privately calls it "lovemaking", though the one time he called it that out loud Diana wrinkled her nose and said "Really?" with one eyebrow raised, but whatever you call what they do, it is after they’re both boneless and satisfied, that is when they truly _talk_. There is something about the sated exhausted state that removes a little bit more of the stoicism and tension that usually hold his tongue. Diana always talks, that’s never been her issue, but in the afterglow she is softer, more mischievous, less inhibited and more affectionate than usual. Even when the room is badly lit, or in the middle of the night with the lights off, the sheer intimacy of pillow talk suffuses the room with a glow. It is a new experience for him, and he likes it, likes the stillness and the closeness. Likes feeling the evidence of his hard work in the deep relaxation of her normally tense, proper demeanor, the softening of her stiff upper lip.

Tonight, Diana is especially boneless, slumped over his chest like a basking lizard on a hot rock. Her hair is undone and tangled, so much longer now than before, and 47 idly starts to work it through with his fingers. Perhaps he's got lingering obligations from earlier, since it is his fault that her hair is such a mess, after all, but also because he has a bone deep desire to please her. It's still fascinating, being so close to her after all the years of professional distance and boundaries, that now he has his fingers running through her hair, delicately untangling the knots he put into it as a result of earlier putting part of himself inside her body. More than one part, really. Tongue, fingers, genitals. Though Diana would say prick rather than genitals, wouldn't she? She loves the feel of the word in her mouth, all plosives and a touch of rolled r. She says it's fitting.

He gets distracted thinking about Diana rolling her tongue and misjudges a tangle. Diana's head jerks back, and she hisses in pain, and then, to his surprise, huffs a laugh, turning her head up to look at him through her eyelashes. "Careful, 47, you don't want me getting ideas."

"Ideas?" He is perplexed, but she seems pleased, so he’s not worried.

"You've never thought about it?” Diana says, and she’s got her plotting face on now. “Never thought about having me at your mercy beneath you, pulling my hair? Teasing me until I'm begging for release? Tying me up and having me do whatever you want? Playing at you being my handler, following your orders for a change?"

He strokes a hand down her back, and lets himself think about it. Thinks about all the times he's seen her vulnerable, uncomfortable, and frustrated, and how he’s never had any reaction but concern for her, and desire to make it stop. Thinks about what it would be like to cause her pain, but he can’t think of that for more than a second because it makes him feel sick. He already loves to serve her every whim, loves to do what he's told, gets untold pleasure from a smile or a laugh or feeling her so wet and slick against his skin. He can't really imagine what he would ask her to do, given carte blanche. There's no secret kink lurking in his psyche that he wants her to fulfill. The idea of her passively existing as a sexual object for his pleasure feels wrong, like an inversion of the natural law.

"I don't think I'm into that," he says eventually. "I prefer to just give you everything you want."

Diana kisses the skin of his chest, her mouth right above the slow, methodical beating of his heart. The kiss is all reassurance. "What if _I_ want to try it? Just for fun. Nothing too extreme. We can discuss it in full, so it isn't a surprise. You’d just be giving me what I want, in this case. An experiment."

It's probably inaccurate to describe something as being on surer footing when he’s lying down, but he always feels better when doing her bidding. He nods, and Diana starts outlining a scenario with the practiced experience of two decades of mission planning.

Later, as he slides into her from behind and digs his fingers into her hair, cradling her skull in his hands, she murmurs encouragement that turns into a high, breathy moan of pleasure as he tightens his fist, and in response he feels her whole body tighten around his prick. Beneath him, Diana has his red silk tie wrapped around her slender wrists, hands grasping at nothing as she swears and pleads and writhes with pleasure, and he thinks that maybe all that advice about compromise being at the heart of a successful relationship might be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat on this one a while because my original feeling was that I had NO idea how to write it, but I do love how it turned out in the end.


	6. absolution shower (not that one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bathroom scene in Absolution, after the cage fight? 47 stripping (🥵) and taking care of his wounds before stepping in the shower? But this time, Diana is there, taking care of everything for him? 🥵🥵🥵

The tiredness is like nothing else. He's been running on adrenaline for what feels like weeks at this point, existing on not enough food and too much caffeine. He was bred for this, he thinks bitterly, but at what cost? He is still human, still breakable. He has been doing this for a decades worth of memories and who knows how much time before that, but that was with a team supporting him, with the deck loaded in his favour, with nothing else to distract him from the job.

The pain of the fight is starting to kick in as the adrenaline burns out. He won, and he got what he came for, but every scrape, cut and bruise feels layered over identical old wounds that never fully healed. His walls have been knocked down, and he can rebuild, but the rubble isn’t the same as good solid bricks.

The sting of iodine makes him close his eyes and that was a mistake, because behind closed eyes is where the guilt lives. The guilt of acting without thinking, the raw, sour taste of consequences, of allowing someone else to be his outsourced conscience than Diana. Diana, who is likely dead. Diana, who had her reasons, who didn’t look shocked, just resigned to her fate. Diana, the face of his guilty conscience.

His traitorous mind opens a door he never dared touch, let alone unlock. If only he'd asked her _why_. If he'd let her explain, she'd be here now. She would be dabbing liniment onto his bruises and patching up the cuts with a needle and thread. She'd have known about the hidden stash, saving time. She'd have been an extra set of eyes on the ground. She'd have been able to keep hold of Victoria. She’d have had resources, and she would have watched the exits. He would have protected her, and in turn, she would have protected him. The scales of justice.

She would make everything right. She would. She would be his oasis, the calm, the safe room known only to them. Here, alone in a locked room, they would be two adults, unencumbered.

He forces his eyes open and reaches into the shower cubicle and cranks on the hot water. As the steam builds, his brain presents him with the vision of his last image of her transposed into this shower. He imagines all too easily how she would fit against his body in the cramped space, because there would be nowhere else for her to go, but he imagines that she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but pressed against him. How she'd make him feel, if not better, at least free. Take the burden of this for a moment, and let him just catch up.

He shakes his head free of the ghosts that tangle in the sticky cobwebs in his mind, and cranks the shower to cold before stepping in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolution was good actually.


	7. in your endo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nightlythievery asked:  
> "Wrap your lips around this!" is one of the many things 47 secretly says to get a reaction out of Diana. She thinks about this a lot, wishes he'd say it to her instead of all of these strangers.

The first time he made a suggestive remark was six months into their working together.

The target is a chiselled, aging former male model turned talent scout, newly turned assassin. He has a dark past of cuddling up to dictators which led to his new career, and it was that, and a string of wronged ex-lovers, that had finally caught up to him. An ironic death had been ordered, and so Diana picked it for them. Rumour was she fought another handler for it. 

“Don’t be silly, 47” Diana said, when he enquired about the rumour. “I just showed Tabitha that she was mistaken. Nothing more.” 

The target was a chain smoker, and had more than once had killed people by poisoning their tobacco. 47 always thought it was dangerous to have a taste for the tools, but it was all too common that drug dealers liked to have a sniff, and arms suppliers had bloodlust. All exploitable. 

The target was known to have other interests. He was keen on the island club scene, so 47 has flown to Ibiza and Diana had procured for him just the right outfit - tight pants, open shirt, Cuban heeled boots and a touch of eyeliner that she coached him through applying through a grainy internet connection. The combination went a long way to make him look on the younger end of the spectrum.

“Good thing twinks have always gone for the hairless look.” Diana said approvingly, when he sent her his final look. He agreed with her there. He’s always hated wearing a wig.

47 found it easy to put the moves on the target merely by standing nearby and getting caught looking. With female targets, he usually has to talk, make an effort, spend some money to prove his worth. With men, he just has to look available. He'd pickpocketed the man's cigarettes earlier, and so when he proposed to go outside, literally the first words they had exchanged, it was easy enough to hand him one from his own pack. The accelerant smelled of vodka, anonymous in the club. "Here, let me light you up." 47 said, and the target smouldered at him over the lit tip, dark eyes and lascivious intent, and then promptly burst into flames.

He'd long suspected that Diana muted herself during missions, but that was the day he realised she didn't, because it was also the first time he heard her laugh.

It became something of a game. He liked to prepare some one liners for all eventualities, whether a conveniently placed "this murder weapon is to die for" or a "I have a killer instinct", he soon learned that Diana liked the innuendo best.

A few years later, when being suggestive and flirting his way to his goals had become second nature, he took a contract that brought him to the fens. It was damp and muddy, and he had been hiding in a birdwatchers hut for several hours waiting for an evil ornithologist. Diana had excused herself for a meeting, and so he had spent the time thinking about birds.

"Ah, good to be out for swallow season", the red cheeked neonazi said cheerfully, when he spotted 47 peering intently through the gap in the hide. He heard Diana come back online, which meant show time.

"I've been tracking a pair of great tits", 47 said, and handed the doomed fascist his binoculars. He had replaced the neck strap with fibre wire, and so it was easy enough to dispatch him quickly, and then tip his body into the water for the animal kingdom to do what it does best and dispose of the evidence.

"Target down", Diana says. "Good hunting, 47. There's a boat nearby, 100 meters to your left, or you can return to the car, if you fancy a walk."

He tidies up the hut and then weighs up his options before beginning the short walk to the boat.

"A damn good job, 47.” Diana says, and he can tell this isn’t just idle conversation, she wants to say something else, and is working out how to phrase it. 

“I never knew you had a secret birding side. If you wanted to see a pair of tits, you only had to ask" 

The adrenaline from the kill makes him bold, and pleased at this turn of events. "I am still hoping for a swallow" he says, deadpan, and then starts the engine, but just gets to hear her throaty laugh before she's drowned out by the noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> birders are pervs, what can I say.


	8. steak side #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> I kinda headcanon that Diana doesn't like very loud noises for obvious reasons, I imagine 47 would be there to comfort her if something loud enough like a firework happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little different, this is a porny what if extra for [steak](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083105)...following the shooting lessons.

_“May I?” he says, low and right by her ear. She nods, and he runs a hand down her side, pushing her hip down from where she has tensed it up. His leg slides between hers, nudging her knees apart. He takes her right shoulder in his hand and lifts her elbow, correcting her stance and standing all around her until she relaxes into him, allows him to guide her hands around the gun. He is so warm, radiating heat against her. Her hair tickles his nose, and he huffs to move it away right by her ear, and it sends an almost painful shudder of pleasure down her spine._

_With another man this would be a come on. It’s such a cliché, and for someone who has dealt in subverting expectations since was fourteen she hates the idea of it, but still she comes close to giving into it, dropping the gun and just turning around into his arms, kissing him and letting him have her right here in the wide open, watched by the twittering birds and the snipers in the trees._

"I can feel you trembling", he says, mildly confused. He’s wrapped around her, still, warm and safe.

She nods. "Loud noises. Ever since childhood. It's involuntary. I can't help it."

He rubs her arm where he was a moment earlier correcting the angle of her elbow. It feels involuntary on his part, just a little bit of comfort, something to do when he can't think of what to say. It's nice. They stand like that for a long moment, until she shifts, and in the process his hand brushes the side of her breast and she shivers, a markedly different feeling than the trembling.

He moves to step back, muttering something under his breath, but she is done with guns, done with training, she wants this. She's going to be a cliche, damn them all. She thought she was better than this, but that little bit of touch, a bit of vulnerability, it was the straw, and, to mix metaphor, all that self denial is for the birds.

"Stay", she whispers, and he pauses, but then stays wrapped around her, pressing against her, and he touches his warm hands to her breastbone and feels the traitorous pounding of her heart.

She does turn in his arms then, and the click of the safety and the low thud of her carefully putting the gun down seems to take forever, the moment stretching between them like a snagged thread, ready to break.

The woods are silent, and he’s tall and handsome and unsure, but then he leans down and the kiss he gives her is soft and sweet, tentative and shy. He cups her jaw in his big hand and strokes her cheek with the tips of his fingers. He lets her be the one to move them forward, let it be her prerogative to fist her hand in his shirt and pull him close, let's her be the one who shifts it up a gear. He matches her fire, tangles his fingers in her hair, runs his hot hands up under her T-shirt and thumbs her nipples where they are hard and eager, then cups her breasts and squeezes, until she's wriggling out of her leggings and jumping up onto the table, her hands running down his sides, then drags her fingers through the deep grooves in his stomach, all muscle definition making an arrow pointing down to her reward. It's too easy for her to wrap her legs around him and easily guide him inside her, where he gasps and trembles himself, overwhelmed, and to revel in getting their morning workout well and truly done ahead of schedule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> calling this steak sides, also now I'm hungry.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to send me a prompt, please do so at my tumblr, [cicaklah.tumblr.com](http://cicaklah.tumblr.com).


End file.
